The Todds stood it for a jiffy. Then James give
in. “I’ll pay it!” he hollers.
“I’ll pay it!”

Even then Becky didn’t smile. She just
come about again and walked back to the shore.
Then she took up that tin pan and one of the potaters
we’d jounced out of the cart.

“Hi, Rosa!” she hollers. That mare
turned her head and looked. And, for the first
time sence she hove anchor on that flat, the critter
unfurled her ears and histed ’em to the masthead.

“Hi, Rosa!” says Becky again, and begun
to pound the pan with the potater. And I give
you my word that that mare started up, turned the
wagon around nice as could be, and begun to swim ashore.
When we got where the critter’s legs touched
bottom, Becky remarks: “Whoa!”

“Here!” I yells, “what did you do
that for?”

“Pay thirty-five dolla now,” says
she. She was bus’ness, that girl.

Todd got his wallet from under hatches and counted
out the thirty-five, keeping one eye on Lonesome,
who was swooping up and down in the launch looking
as if he wanted to cut in, but dasn’t.
I tied the bills to my jack-knife, to give ’em
weight, and tossed the whole thing ashore. Becky,
she counted the cash and stowed it away in her apron
pocket.

“All right,” says she. “Hi,
Rosa!” The potater and pan performance begun
again, and Rosa picked up her hoofs and dragged us
to dry land. And it sartinly felt good to the
feet.

“Say,” I says, “Becky, it’s
none of my affairs, as I know of, but is that the
way you usually start that horse of yours?”

She said it was. And Rosa ate the potater.

Becky asked me how to stop the launch, and I told
her. She made a lot of finger signs to Lonesome,
and inside of five minutes the Greased Lightning was
anchored in front of us. Old man Huckleberries
was still hankering to interview Todd with the pitchfork,
but Becky settled that all right. She jumped
in front of him, and her eyes snapped and her feet
stamped and her fingers flew. And ’twould
have done you good to see her dad shrivel up and get
humble. I always had thought that a woman wasn’t
much good as a boss of the roost unless she could
use her tongue, but Becky showed me my mistake.
Well, it’s live and l’arn.